


Snape's Last Request

by storyplease



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Halloween, Polyjuice Potion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-05-18 18:02:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5937805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storyplease/pseuds/storyplease
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When she foolishly decides to place a wager against Professor Slughorn for the best Halloween Fright prank, Hermione finds out that that she may have bitten off more than she can chew. But when she enters a largely disused storeroom frantically searching for ideas, she finds something worth far more than ten Galleons. But first, she will have to brew a special batch of PolyJuice...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snape's Last Request

 

"Granger! That's  _ you _ , isn't it?"

 

Hermione started and her eyes went wide with shock. She knew that voice. 

 

_ But it's impossible. He's dead.  _

 

"There's only one student I know of who is  _ that _ insufferably nosy and bushy-haired. Come now, I don't bite. In fact, I can't do much of anything in my current state, luckily for you, or I would hex your hair off your head for going through my things!"

 

Hermione bristled instinctively. He knew how to get a rise out of her faster with well-timed snark than even Ron could with his thoughtless idiocy. 

 

_ Well, that proves it. Either someone could do one hell of an impression or he's actually here, but where? _

 

She looked around the storeroom with a puzzled expression. 

 

"Over here, you daft girl—behind the stuffed snake and half-covered with an oilcloth!"

 

She turned sharply to face the direction that the acerbic voice had come from and saw the stuffed snake at the end of a narrow corridor of stacked-up junk. The snake’s glass eyes stared at her blindly. 

 

"Quickly! Quickly! I can’t stand being back here a minute longer!"

 

Hermione quickened her pace and pulled away the oilcloth, which was halfway covering something wooden and rectangular. 

 

Black eyes glared back at her. 

 

"Professor!" She exclaimed, staring at the painting. "What are you doing down here?"

 

"Languishing," Severus Snape replied mirthlessly. "Minerva couldn't stand to look at me, so here's where she put me: in a place where no one in their right mind would think to look."

 

Hermione frowned at the thinly veiled insult and began to replace the cloth. 

 

" _ No _ !" He cried out at once, setting his jaw before continuing in a softer voice that Hermione had never heard issue forth from his lips while he'd been her professor, " _ Please _ . Don't make me stay here all alone."

 

A stab of sympathy filled Hermione's chest and she relented, pulling the cloth off altogether. 

 

"Why  _ are _ you down here anyway?" he asked, his voice growing suspicious. "Getting into... _ mischief _ ?"

 

Hermione put her hands on her hips and huffed loudly. 

 

"For your information,  _ Professor _ , I am teaching Defense!" she said proudly. 

 

He crossed his painted arms with a disbelieving look and raised one eyebrow. 

 

"It's true! Look!" Hermione thrust her special professorship sigil pin under the painting's nose, which was much easier now that it was two dimensional. 

 

"I  _ see _ ." His voice was laced with disapproval. 

 

"I just turned twenty years old a couple of weeks ago," Hermione said with a sniff. "I'm not a child anymore."

 

He snorted, amusement evident in his dark painted eyes. 

 

"Well, if you must know, I was down here looking through some things so that I can come up with a good Halloween lesson plan for all of my classes," Hermione said, relaxing a bit, "it's only a week away, you know.

 

"No, I didn't know," Snape replied coolly. "I've been rotting away down in this junk pile for several years if my arithmetic skills haven't completely gone. It's a wonder I haven't gone completely mad."

 

Hermione's eyes were sympathetic, and he only seemed to realize what she aimed to do when her wand shot from her robes and his painting shrunk until it was about the size of a matchstick. 

 

"Of all the undignified—!" His words became indignant muffled noises as Hermione shoved the shrunken painting into the pocket of her robes. 

* * *

  
  


"Ah, so they're still doing the Halloween Fright Wager, I see," Snape said, looking down his nose at her from the wall over the fireplace in Hermione's chambers. 

 

She sat across from him in a wingback chair that looked rather familiar. In fact, as he looked around the room, it was plain to see that Hermione was reusing a number of things that had graced his own personal chambers. 

 

_ Well, good for her.  _

 

The bed frame was the same black oak that he'd used for his own sleeping quarters, but the plush mattress and giant fluffy duvet were obviously her own. Other than a couple of tall bookshelves and a desk that was both covered in parchment and reference texts yet somehow organized, the room was still relatively spartan. His was the only painting on her wall. 

 

"Yeah,  and I was stupid enough to join the betting pool! I hear that Slughorn is planning something incredibly ambitious," Hermione replied, staring morosely at the fire.

 

"What if I told you that I could help you win?" he purred back, delighting in how her eyes widened with shock.

 

"But, how is that possible?" Hermione replied.

 

"Polyjuice," he replied, pronouncing each syllable clearly. "I think you may have heard of it?"

* * *

  
  


Hermione paled. She'd had a number of bad experiences with that particular potion. The last had been when Ron had told her he wanted her to use it so she'd look like his favorite Quidditch player from the Harpies. 

 

In bed. 

 

Their relationship hadn't lasted the night. 

 

"I can't ask Slughorn for any," she said, trying to excuse herself without looking cowardly. "He doesn't keep any on hand."

 

"Then we can make some," Snape replied in a manner that implied she was a dunderhead. 

 

"You are-er- _ were _ a Potions master!  You know that Polyjuice takes a month to make!" Hermione replied, looking at the painting as though it was he who deserved the designation of dunderhead instead.

 

"This is true...in the  _ standard _ method of brewing taught in school," he replied, "but you know that I am more than a standard wizard. The same is true of my potions."

 

Well, he  _ was _ the “Half-Blood Prince.” It wasn't hard to imagine that he would have had plenty of time to improve even further after his time at school. 

 

"Well, if you're sure you want to help a former Gryffindor win a stack of Galleons from Slughorn..." Hermione trailed off, looking at the ground. 

 

"Miss Granger," the portrait replied darkly, "there is nothing I would rather do than tear that pompous walrus down a peg or two. We shall have the best revenge...er... _ scare _ ready by Halloween or you may set me on fire!"

 

"That  _ won’t _ be necessary!" Hermione reassured him. 

 

"Good. Now, I trust you know where to... _ gather _ ...the exact ingredients, yes?"

 

Hermione blushed. He'd never let her live down her mistake from Second Year. 

 

"I—  _ yes _ , Professor!"  She stuttered under his stern expression. 

 

"Then what are you waiting for?" 

 

Hermione didn't need to be told twice. 

* * *

  
  


Hermione reappeared several hours later, her arms laden with supplies. 

 

"I was able to get midnight-gathered fluxweed, knotgrass, lacewing flies, leeches, bicorn horn and boomslang skin, Professor!" 

 

"Is that so?"  Snape had been sleeping in his frame when she'd burst through the door, but one eye was open as he eagerly eyed the supplies.

 

"I still don't know how we are going get the Lacewing Flies ready in time, though!" Hermione said worriedly. 

 

"That is why  _ I _ am a Potions master and you are...well  _ you _ ," he replied.

 

If Hermione was surprised that he hadn't insulted her, she didn't show it. 

 

" _ Anyway _ !" he continued, "You will need three cauldrons. One bronze, one copper and one pewter."

 

Hermione frowned. 

 

"Wouldn't it be better to use three bronze cauldrons?" She asked, "Potions take the least time when brewed in precious metals."

 

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Snape let out an exasperated sigh. 

 

The door slammed, and, when he looked up, Hermione was nowhere to be seen.

 

A small smirk quirked at his lips for a moment as he waited for her to return. 

 

_ She's learning. Good. _

* * *

  
  


Hermione's hair flew around her head like wild auburn snakes as the three cauldrons simmered. 

 

She didn't want to get found out by the other professors, so her room was the only place she could brew in secret. 

 

And besides,  _ he _ was there.

 

Professor Snape’s painting was surprisingly helpful, and though he had a bit of a sarcastic manner and was prone to saying rather acerbic things from time to time, he was actually quite a good mentor. 

 

Hermione suspected that he would have been much better at teaching a single apprentice with a love for Potions than a class full of students with varying levels of interest. 

 

She hadn't realized that the lacewing flies would simmer ten times faster if she mashed the leeches into them and placed a top on the cauldron to artificially increase the pressure. 

 

But Snape had. 

 

"At my most ambitious, I could reliably brew fully potent Polyjuice within a forty-eight hour period," he said somewhat smugly. 

 

Hermione gasped. "That's marvelous, Professor!"

 

"With  _ you _ doing the brewing, however, I estimate three to four days," he continued in a manner that suggested that he was unimpressed. 

 

He couldn't fool her. The way his lips twisted in the ghost of a smile told her that he was actually quite impressed, indeed. 

 

The boomslang skin was thirteen times more potent when sliced lengthwise in thin strips and when she added it to the fluxweed/knotgrass mixture she’d combined normally under low heat in the copper cauldron, it went a strange green color that made Snape nod approvingly.

 

Once all of the ingredients were combined, it was time to mix everything together. Instead of stirring clockwise or counterclockwise, Hermione made large, scooping motions at Snape’s direction, flipping over the mixture in large clumps.  This aerated the potion and shortened the brewing time by over half.  The last ingredient was the bicorn horn powder, which she’d crushed using an iron pestle instead of the normal marble one.  The horn sparked and smoked when she did it, but the fine powder it produced was of much higher quality than any she’d ever seen.

 

“Sprinkle it in on top evenly,” he advised, “Good, good, easy does it. Now, cover your cauldron and cast a five minute timer charm so that we can remove it from heat at the proper time.

 

Hermione wiped the sweat from her brow and did as instructed.

 

“But, what about the final ingredient?” she asked. “Whose hair will we…?”

 

A sinister grin spread across his lips as he steepled his fingers.

 

“I think we both know the answer to that question, Hermione.”

* * *

  
  


The night before Halloween, Hermione couldn’t sleep.  It hadn’t helped that she’d suddenly grown self conscious dressing in her bedroom due to his presence over her fireplace.  She’d never had any problems before, even in her old dorm room, which had a painting of three tittering witches that annoyed her to no end.

 

She knew, logically, that the painting was not the real Professor Snape— she’d seen him slumped horribly against the wall, his blood spreading everywhere on that terrible day in the Shrieking Shack. And though everything from his mannerisms to the sound of his voice were spot-on, he was much kinder and more patient as a painting than he’d ever been in life.

 

As she lay in her bed with the curtains drawn around her, she fretted silently about how her heart beat faster when she knew his dark eyes were watching.  Or how, either whoever had painted his likeness had done him a favor, or he’d become more alluring than she remembered. It wasn’t that his appearance was different, but there was something undefinable about how he affected her that made her wonder if she was going mad.

* * *

 

The next morning at breakfast, she asked Minerva why she’d taken Snape’s portrait down.

 

“Whatever do you mean, dear?” Minerva replied, looking concerned, “His painting is up there, but it’s always sleeping.  I’ve never seen him so much as bat an eye.”

 

Hermione’s stomach fluttered uncomfortably and she excused herself from the table.

 

When she got down to her room, though, an odd sight greeted her.

 

The frame was empty.  A note was painted in the center that said _ turn the frame over. _

 

Curious, she did as instructed and noticed that a small envelope had been glued against the back of the parchment, though she hadn’t noticed it before.

 

Hermione knew that Polyjuice Potion would not work unless the final ingredient was taken from a living person.

 

However, she also knew that whatever was inside was most likely gathered from the Professor while he was still very much alive.  She had no idea whether or not this technicality would work in the potion, but it was worth a try, and though the new information about Snape’s portrait was surprising to her, her gut instinct was to trust him.

 

She opened the envelope and pulled a couple stray black hairs from it.  They were still somewhat shiny with grease and slightly crimped at the end where they’d been pulled from the scalp. She only needed a few.  The effects merely needed to last an hour at most. She placed them into the calderon and watched them disappear into the muddy liquid until it turned a horrible purple color before turning black. It smelled heavenly, though.  

 

She pulled open her wardrobe and looked at the freshly pressed, severe black teaching robes she’d hung on the inside of the door. Not a button was out of place.  Once she transformed, she wouldn’t be able to fit into her current clothing, so she’d found an old set of Snape’s robes folded up in a dusty box in the junk room. They still smelled faintly like him, which she should have found creepy, but instead it just made her ache with sadness. She thought of the night before when they’d shared a rather enjoyable debate and then gone through their Halloween Fright Plan once more. She’d have to be convincing, so she’d practiced. Much to the painting’s amusement, she’d done imitations of his walk and mannerisms until he told her that he was becoming concerned that she was a better Snape than he was.

 

But, now she realized that maybe he’d been right.

 

Still,  _ she’d _ brewed the potion herself.  It wouldn’t harm her.  At worst, it simply wouldn’t work.

 

The thought of having to give ten Galleons to Slughorn the Smug made her grit her teeth in annoyance. She decided that even though things had not quite turned out as planned, she would proceed with her plans.  

 

At the very least, she would scare the hats off of at least half of the staff.

* * *

 

 

Slughorn’s prank had been lackluster in practice, but that was largely due to the fact that he’d pulled it during the lunch hour.  Hermione still couldn’t see how  _ anyone _ would be frightened of bouncing, singing Jack-o-lanterns, other than perhaps their inability to carry a tune.  Flitwick had looked absolutely scandalized at the sound they’d produced.

 

As the sun set and the stars began to grow visible, Hermione knew that it was now or never.  She had purposefully hung back while everyone filled the Great Hall for dinner.  Standing in the professor’s lounge area, she suddenly started to feel a little nervous.

 

“Do I detect a hint of  _ stage fright _ , Hermione?” a soft voice purred in her ear, and, before she could reply, dark robes and long arms were embracing her from behind as her heart thudded painfully fast in her ears.

 

_ Oh god.  This isn’t real. _

 

“Oh, but I assure you that it is,” he said softly, his scent enveloping the air around her until she was nearly dizzy. “Now, stay here and watch a master in action. I am, after all, the very best at being  _ myself _ .”

 

There was a maddeningly soft pressure against the top of her head, and she shuddered deliciously into him as she realized that he’d kissed her.

 

And then, with a sound like dark wings he was gone, striding out into the Great Hall in his most intimidating manner. The gasps and shrieks were like music to her ears. Even Slughorn looked a little green around the gills.  

 

In the end, Hermione had won the wager, hands down.  She’d come out with the Polyjuice later to “prove” that it was her all along, and gotten a stern lecture from Minerva for scaring Slughorn so badly that he’d gone to the Infirmary.

 

“But,” the Headmistress added, her eyes sparkling deviously as she took Hermione aside later, “I must admit, I like your style.”  

 

“Ten points to Gryffindor?” Hermione asked with a wink.

 

“Oh, yes, most definitely,” Minerva replied with a snort as she handed over the leather purse with her winnings. “Enjoy your Galleons, Miss Granger.”

 

There was only one more matter to attend to.

* * *

 

 

“But  _ how _ ?”

 

He was sitting in the wing-back chair across from the painting when she entered her chambers and he turned, his profile striking in the flickering firelight.

 

“How  _ indeed _ ?” he replied softly. “Does it matter?”

 

“You said you’d been down there for  _ years _ !” Hermione felt herself wavering between an almost hysterical relief and rage at having been tricked.

 

“And so I was. In a way.”

 

“Prof—”

 

“ _ No _ .” He still spoke softly, but there was an urgency in his voice that silenced her. “No.  Call me...Severus.   _ Please _ .”

 

She rounded the chair and stared into his dark, unfathomable eyes, her hands on her hips.

 

“I take that to mean that you’re mad at me?” he said softly, the lines around his eyes tensing up as he met her gaze.

 

“No... _ Severus… _ ” she said after a long moment, his name leaving her lips like a sigh.

 

His eyes went wide but he didn’t dare move as she raised her arms and slid closer to him until she was embracing him gently.

 

“ _ What _ ..?” his words died in his throat as she pressed against him, chest to chest.

 

“Just returning the favor,” she whispered into his ear, her lips brushing against his soft skin as he shivered with pleasure under her.

 

It was a good thing that Halloween fell on a Friday night.  For as their lips finally met in the firelight, Hermione was fairly certain that she wouldn’t be fit to leave her chambers for quite some time indeed.


End file.
